Flowers
by MiracleAnna
Summary: A young Sasha meets somebody new.


_Original Written by S8k8l1n_

 _Translated by MiracleAnna_

* * *

Sasha liked going into town for his father. He liked walking along the rough cobblestone streets and looking at all fresh produce being put to sale. He enjoyed the way the air was both a light ,soft conversation and the gentle scent of spring flowers. On days that the sun broke through the clouds he delighted in seeing the ways it shone through the gaps of the tree branches. And when it rained he took comfort in the sounds the water made as it splashed on to the roofs.

He enjoyed all those things about town and more, but what he enjoyed the most was the respite the errands gave him from his father and his workshop. It wasn't that he particularly disliked the company of his father. He loved the stories his father would tell while he carefully sanded a new heel as well as the way he always had some sort of useful advice for every situation. It wasn't specifically the workshop either, as he liked the tall shelves of different sized lasts and the long spools of thread that lined the walls. It was that recently his father had gotten his mind set on the idea that he ought to begin working in the shop. He was excited at first, but then he told the young boy in the neighboring pastry shop, Luka Werner.

Sasha had expected him to react positively, as then they would be seeing more of each other, instead, the boy seemed confused.

"But what about your plan?" Luka said.

His plan? It was no secret that Sasha wanted to pursue mysteries of the world. His love for science almost bordered on obsession. His plan to become a scientist wouldn't waver because he sometimes worked in his father's shop, would it? Luka must be mistaken.

"What do you mean?" asked Sasha

Luka cocked his head, "Don't you know that if you start working in your dad's shop you'll never stop? My big brother told me that when has little he wanted to be an artist. He said he got started off well, had all his supplies and even got one of pictures featured in the museum. But then Dad got him to start working in the shop twice a week, then part time, then full time, and now he never has time to do anything at all. "

Sasha was struck with a deep sense of horror. This would ruin everything! There's no way he could do anything worthwhile if he was stuck in a cobbler's shop for his entire life.

"But that sort of thing wouldn't happen to me, would it?" Sasha tentatively asked.

Luka rolled his eyes, "You're really doubting me? I have THREE siblings, and each one of them are stuck covered in flour for the rest of their lives. I'm just happy that I like making Donauwelles."

And so, Sasha took today's delivery with relish, taking his time to carefully admire everything despite the beginnings of a chill in the air. Perhaps if he was especially incompetent his father would become frustrated and lose interest.

He was nearly twenty minutes late before he made his way to his destination. That may be why, when he entered the flower shop he was on the receiving end of stern look from the florist, Ms. Lüthi.

"Your boots, Ma'am" said Sasha, dropping the parcel on the counter

"Why're you late? Avoiding work?" she ground out beneath a cigarette and a large bunch of daisies

"I'm not- I was just "

"No use denying it, that Werner boy wouldn't stop babbling on how pointless dreams are and the futility of trying."

Sasha gulped. She was on to him.

"I think the boy has been listening to his older brothers a bit too much. I told his father that introducing them to Schopenhauer's works was a bad idea" Sasha had never heard of a Schopenhauer before.

After Ms. Lüthi had finished her tirade, she refocused her attention on him. She expected an answer.

Sasha blinked, then rolled his eyes, "…Yes"

She took a long drag and groaned under her breath,

"Damn kids…"

Sasha tried to defend himself and his fellow children but was quickly interrupted

"If you want something to do, go put these flowers in trash"

She gestured to a bundle of flowers, they looked just fine to him.

"But - "

"Get out."

Sasha was then promptly pushed outside; a large bouquet of purple hyacinths being shoved into his arms. As he examined them closely, he began to see what Ms. Lüthi had meant: the edges of the flowers were starting to turn a wet brown colour, and the some of the buds had fallen off. Nevertheless, they were still beautiful, he refused to just dispose of them just because they had wilted.

After Sasha had almost finished his walk home, the hill behind his house caught his eye. It was where his mother was buried, after she had died when he was just a baby. A strange feeling sense of longing overtook him, he had never truly known his mother. His father wouldn't shed any light on her, he was quick to change the topic when he brought her up. If he pressed, his father would often enter a deep depression, one that took days to raise. Sasha disliked seeing his father in such mood, so he rarely asked. He was so deep in his thoughts he didn't notice the tall woman standing facing the grave until ran straight into her.

Sasha sputtered,

"I'm so sorry Ma'am I didn't see you there, I sometimes get lost in my thoughts and-" The woman turned around and she was crying. She looked like a mourner, dressed in black formal clothes. A wide brimmed hat sat on her heard. Sasha stopped talking, and woman looked at him with sorrowful eyes.

He glanced at the grave behind her.

"Did you… um, did you know my mother?" The women nodded and wiped her eyes.

Sasha paused, then asked, "Was she nice?"

The woman laughed softly, "I suppose she was"

He leaned down and placed the bouquet on the soft grass before the grave. The women bent her neck down and examined the flowers and watched as the wind ruffled the petals.

She bent up to look at him,

"Did you get those from Mr. Hummels? They're very beautiful."

"No, from Ms. Lüthi"

"Well you should be sure to thank her, I'm sure your mother would have appreciated them, were she here"

"I'll make sure to tell her that" The woman smiled to herself

"Good, thank you Sasha."

Sasha took his time walking home, taking extra care to stop by the florist first.

* * *

Spring turned to summer, and summer to fall. Throughout the year, Sasha continued to visit the women at the grave when he went out on his errands. He was tentative at first, visiting this mysterious woman. He didn't want to disturb her during the morning process, his father had been very clear to not ever do that after he had found him on night crying in his workshop on the anniversary of his mother's death. The women seemed to enjoy the company however and delighted in talking to him about all sorts of things. Sometimes, it would be a story about when she worked in wallpaper factory in Berlin, and how the machines' intricate rollers were so terrible to clean. One day, she taught him how to extract dye from flower. Another, how to best settle an argument between two friends. Sasha began to take comfort in their conversations, often coming for help with conflicts in his life. The women seemed to have just the thing to say for anything situation, and with this support, Sasha flourished with both his schoolwork and in his other pursuits.

Initially, his father paid no mind to Sasha's excursions, his son had always enjoyed having all sorts of discussions with the townsfolk. At least now he didn't believe _all_ of the Werner boy's strange ideas about life. But, one day he mentioned this strange woman offhand to one of his clients, the seamstress. The young women's brows had bunched delicately in confusion, she had never heard of such a woman, and she took extra care to get to know _everyone_ in this town, whether they liked it or not. His son must be making up this woman, nothing in this town escapes _her_ notice. He refused to believe this, it couldn't be true. _No_ , something finally must've escaped that nosy woman's grasp for once.

The next day, he followed his son covertly as he made his errands around town. Sasha paid no mind to him, he was too absorbed in the flow of the day. As Sasha walked up the steps to the graveyard he was struck with a sense of dread. He had to get a better look. From his position behind a small shrub he could he his son clearly, as much as he wished he couldn't. His worst fears were true, there Sasha was, plain as day, telling stories to himself.

 _His poor boy,_ he knew he had made a mistake being so distant lately. It was just so _difficult_ , what with the influx of customers and all the organizing he had to do. But now he paid the price, his own son was so desperate for familial affection he had resorted to making up an imaginary friend. He had to fix this.

Sasha was certain something was wrong, it had to be. His father had been so _kind_ lately, he wanted to know everything about Sasha's day, he had bought him the new science textbook he wanted, he even let him stay up to midnight to read last night. Luka said that even his brothers didn't stay up that late and not get in trouble, and they were _adults_.

The last time his father had acted like this his uncle had died. Oh no, if he was doing this again … who had died? His grandmother? His great-aunt? _Ulf Merbold?_ _**Not Merbold!**_

It made perfect sense, his father knew he loved Merbold more than anything, he must've been trying to soften the blow. Even so, he couldn't let his father act this way forever.

A few day later, his father's concern was beginning to get on his nerves. That morning when it had been raining, he had forgotten his umbrella by the door. His father had, after discovering this, had rushed out and hand delivered his umbrella in front of everyone at school. The rest of the day his classmates had talked non-stop about the event.

It was now night and the storm had picked up. Sasha and his father were at the dinner table quietly eating. After his father had asked for the third time how he felt, Sasha snapped.

"I KNOW MERBOLD IS DEAD!"

Sasha's father sat there, dumbfounded, Sasha continued.

"I know that's why you're being so involved suddenly! I know that's why you let me stay up late! I know that's why you keep asking me how I am! I know Merbold was my idol, but you don't need to shelter me, _I can take it!_ "

"Sasha- "

"I'm 11 years old now, I'm practically an adult! I'm almost done primary school, I have to be ready for the real world, I have to- "

"SASHA!" Sasha stopped, his father had never yelled at him before. His throat hurt. Had he been yelling?

Sasha's aging father's eyes softened, he pushed his chair away from the table and pulled his son into a hug.

"Merbold isn't dead" Sasha looked up.

"My dear boy, I was just worried about you. You don't talk to me any more, and I've been so busy, I wanted to make sure that you're okay."

His father pulled away, and dinner resumed, though quieter. The storm continued outside.

* * *

Autumn continued into winter and the winter winds reared their head. The trees that had once been laden with branches were stripped bare in the coming days, their weak limbs not holding against the wind's edge. There was not yet snow on the ground, but it was still so cold in the morning that frost formed on windowpanes and on leaves.

Sasha paid no attention to the cold as he walked back to his father's workshop from the graveyard. The women had been oddly estranged lately, he'd only asked about his mother. Surely since she'd been by her grave almost every day since spring she must've been very close to his mother. What harm could a story or two do? Apparently a lot, as when he had asked the women had refused to speak on the subject, it reminded him of his father.

He had wanted to slip into her memories then, she probably wouldn't have even noticed. After all, Sasha had never met anyone who'd ever had. However, he had tried her mind slipped through his mental fingers. He couldn't even make a basic connection with her; their minds were like oil and water. Sasha passed this off as a fluke, he just hadn't had firm enough control yet.

He decided he just needed to keep practicing his abilities, and so he did. For the following weeks he pried into every mind he could get a grasp on, shuffling though memories like pages in a book. Pieces of first kisses, birthdays, bat mitzvahs and baptisms passed through his mental grip as water flows down a river. After all he could break into people's thoughts with no more than glance, he felt he was ready for his final challenge, his father.

He hadn't been able to break through his father's mental shields yet, if he could break into his father's mind, he would be ready to try again on the cryptic women. Sasha never took anything in half-steps.

Sasha crept quietly into the workshop, his father was busy re-stitching the sole of a show. He didn't notice the sound of the door over the din of the sewing machine.

Sasha crept closer, his father didn't move. He began to focus his mind on his father. Within a few seconds the mental lock that had held him at bay clicked open, he was in.

The first memory was unremarkable, it was one of his mother holding him as a child. Had he really been so small once?

The second memory brought a soft smile to his face, it was of how his father saw his mother, an angel.

The third memory began so boring he thought he'd fall asleep. His mother and father were talking over dinner. It must've been Valentine's day, there were a box of heart shaped chocolates on the table. His father and mother kissed. Gross! Why did adults like doing this lovey-dovey stuff anyway? The scene changed, it must have been later in the night, all the chocolates were gone. Wait, what was his mother doing? Oh no. OH GOD!

Sasha pulled out of his father's mind as fast as he possibly could, he did NOT want to see that. Ugh, and he thought his delve into the women who ran the bar's mind was bad.

That night as he lay in bed he reflected over the day's events. He was finally ready to enter the woman's mind. He wondered what he might find in her psyche. Had his mother been a secret agent working for INTERPOL? Had the women taken a vow a silence to never reveal her secret identity? As he let his mind wander, he had a startling epiphany, the same face he had seen light up in joy in his father's memories was familiar. Not just in his own features but on the woman at the grave's as well.

The same hair, same nose, same twinkling eyes, they were identical.

 _Was the women by the grave was his mother?_

That was, of course, impossible, his mother was dead. Completely dead. He knew that. But his mother had no siblings, she has no family to speak of. It all made sense, why the woman was so kind, why she loved to talk to him, _why she knew his name when they met!_ He had to go talk to her.

The temperature had dropped as the night had went on and Sasha's breathes came out in bursts of fog as he scrambled out the back door. Snowflakes dropped on to his coat, their crystal structure preserved for but second before they melted. He slipped on the ice on the grass leading up to the hill but pressed on. The woman was there, underneath the tree. She turned around, she smiled as she greeted him, then concern overrode as she took in his disheveled state.

"What are you doing outside this late? And without a jacket? You'll catch a cold!"

Sasha shook her off, "It doesn't matter what I'm doing out here, I want to ask you a question and I want you to answer honestly, no matter what."

The woman nodded, "Of course Sasha."

A moment of silence passed between them, the snow floated peacefully down. Sasha cleared his throat and asked a question he had already known the answer to long ago.

"Are you my mom?"

The woman didn't seem to know what to say, her eyes simply widened in shock. Soon, after what felt like an eternity, the woman nodded. Salty tears began to run down Sasha's cheeks, mixing with the rain. Through the darkness he noticed just how ethereal the woman was. The women seemed to fade away in the darkness of night.

Sasha had never felt so alone before.

He keeled to the ground and sobbed.


End file.
